Confessions of a Teenage Refrigerator

“Hey, hey, what’s the big idea?” I groan silently as a young family member reaches up and magnetizes a piece of paper to my middle. It’s an essay about the five food groups, with a large red “A+” circled at the top. I feel no pride. Instead, I shudder as I notice he has left behind a small, grimy fingerprint stain on my chrome. I’m new. I’m state of the art. It sounds awful, but sometimes I wish I wasn’t born into a family with kids and mangy pets. Maybe then I would be treated better. Stainless steel, French door, external filtered water and ice dispenser, I have it all. Yet I’m treated like an old-fashioned, horrid, white model. With the refrigerator and freezer stacked on top of each other, no less.

It’s not just the fact that I’m covered in germs and stains; it’s what they put into me. I should be crisping spinach and kale, pears and cranberries. My distinguished shelves should be caressing sparkling wine, succulent feta, and imported salad dressing. My freezer ought to be taking special care of tender filets of salmon and venison. I have refined taste; I want to take care of myself, both inside and out. I would enjoy being light and not weighed down with rubbish. Do you want to know what I’m preserving right now? A quarter cherry pie, prepared Kraft macaroni and cheese, ranch dressing, whipped cream, triple chocolate chunk ice cream, pink lemonade, Tupperware of leftover spaghetti, frozen dinners, a few apples, and I haven’t even gotten started on the cheese. It never ends; cheddar, provolone, American, the stuff from the can… it’s like they can’t live without it. Also, can someone please throw away that four month old mass of meatloaf lurking in the icy cold depths of my freezer? That’s not doing anyone any good. Seriously. I deserve better than this.

There’s moments when I like my family, really there is. But I truly wish they would clean me up more than once a year. I believe in modesty as much as the next person, but I’m completely concealed by layers of artwork, papers, tests, pictures, messages, lists, and magnets. I wouldn’t mind showing off my buff silver exterior every once in a while. Maybe if they could compromise: throw away the meatloaf, wipe me down, and proudly show me off to the world, then I could have a better relationship with my family.

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